


Chickenscratch

by Miso



Series: A War He Can't Forget [22]
Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Diary/Journal, Loneliness, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, floyd is the furthest thing from okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13794876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: Floyd's therapy homework got a little dark sometimes.





	Chickenscratch

**Author's Note:**

> based on an idea from the eternally delightful blossomtime about floyd being A. mad as hell that he has homework in therapy and B. being mad as hell that it works. :P me, taking the ball and running a few football fields with it since forever. maybe now i can write the cute fluffy thing i've been DYING to write but can't! poor floyd. he needs to be in a hospital for a while i think.

When Floyd's therapist suggested he keep a journal, he scoffed. Journals were tantamount to diaries, and diaries were the territory of school-aged girls. Grown men didn't keep diaries. What forty-year-old kept a diary? Certainly not one who had nothing to complain about in the first place.

All of that made Floyd even angrier that it seemed to be _working_. It was a bizarre, foreign feeling to have something somewhat constructive to do with his anger. Writing it out- or, as he admitted he was wont to do, destroying a few pages of the journal (not a diary!) with random spatters of ink or scribbles of colored pencil or haphazard drawings or just ripping them out and tearing them to shreds- actually helped, and for the first time since he was in high school, Floyd found himself resorting to something besides booze to soothe himself.

It didn't help that much, though, when his primary support system vanished. Earl was still Floyd's anchor, and the concept of being without him for any extended period of time was horrifying on a level Floyd himself didn't entirely comprehend. A few hours was difficult, a couple of days for a semi-local location shoot akin to torture.

Earl being halfway across the globe in Australia for a news special was unbearable. Floyd stared at the alarm clock on his nightstand and felt the angry red numbers- 1:40, no, 1:41- burning themselves into his retinas. It was like the clock was judging him. _You're an adult, and you can't sleep alone. You absolute pussy._

He felt his fingers twitch and his body ache. The liquor cabinet was calling his name- almost literally- and Floyd physically winced at the thought. No. He was doing so good. He couldn't break now. Earl would be so disappointed if he downed a bottle of Jack now.

Heaving himself out of bed, Floyd paced around the room for a minute before he laid his gaze on the drawer where he kept his journal hidden in a false bottom. Earl had never read it, and swore he wouldn't unless Floyd gave him his explicit permission, but Floyd just felt... better, hiding things. Maybe it was a leftover fear from childhood, that anything left out in the open would be subject to his father or his brother's scrutiny or worse. He stepped to the drawer, pulled it open, deftly took the false bottom out of place, and withdrew the book.

Floyd's definitely-not-a-diary was simple, an average ring-bound notebook with a black cover. Actually, this was the second one. The first one became far too cluttered with the destruction of pages upon pages of entries with scribbles and ink blots and doodles depicting the reality of Floyd's psychiatric state.

Dragging himself downstairs and into the study, Floyd sighed a little as he settled into Earl's desk. There was something calming about being around Earl's possessions. If he couldn't have the real Earl, then by God, he could have a pillow with one of Earl's shirts and a spray of his cologne on it, and he could sure as hell sit at Earl's desk.

Floyd cracked open the book and flipped to the first blank page he could find.

_October 17th, 1981_

_Earl's been in Australia for a week now. I'm exhausted. I can't sleep and I can't think straight. At least Caballero gave me time off while Earl's gone. I think he knows how much of a trainwreck I am without him._

A pause. Floyd chuckled to himself and carried on.

_Not that I'm not a trainwreck with him, too. I don't know how he puts up with me. All I do is bitch and moan about how terrible my life is when I don't even have that much to be sad about. So what, my dad was a piece of shit when I was growing up. Lots of other people had shitty dads growing up and they turned out fine. Why didn't I? Am I that fucked up that I couldn't deal with shit like a normal person?_

Floyd felt tears prick at his eyes, shuddered, and shook his head.

_Victoria says I'm normal. Well, not normal-normal, but that my 'reactions to trauma' are normal. Whatever that means. I just don't get it. My life isn't that bad. I have hobbies I'm good at. I have friends I like. I have a fiance that thinks the world of me. I'm a respected journalist. Why can't I just be happy? Why do I wake up every morning and wish I died in my sleep?_

Floyd barely noticed the tears falling down his cheeks.

_It's been a while since THAT happened. I thought I would be okay by now. Why am I not okay?_

The tears smudged the ink.

_I wake up every morning and I wonder whether everything I've accomplished is actually worth anything. I turn over and I look at Earl and I wonder why he stays. I feel like it's because he feels sorry for me. He says it isn't, but I don't know if I believe him. He could be doing so much, but he's taking care of me. I've ruined his life. I know I have._

Floyd lay his head down on the desk and sobbed a minute, trembling. He swallowed hard and carried on writing once he had some control of his emotions.

_I miss Earl. It gets so bad at night. I just want him to hold me for a while. Maybe I could at least get some sleep. I feel so stupid saying that but I just want him back. I shouldn't need to be held and cuddled like a little kid. He just makes me feel safe, like maybe everything's going to be okay. He tells me how much he loves me every single day. I know he can't be lying, so why do I keep thinking he is?_

Floyd turned the page and stared at the blank canvas in front of him for a moment, before feeling rage boil in his veins for a moment. He dug his pen into the page as hard as he could and scrawled all of his internalized anger onto the paper.

_**WORTHLESS USELESS STUPID SELFISH IDIOT HOPELESS ALONE ALONE ALONE ALONE NOT GOOD ENOUGH NEVER GOOD ENOUGH MAKE IT STOP** _

A pause as he breathed heavily, then added in tiny letters underneath all of that rage; _please help me_.

Tossing the pen to the side and putting his head down again, Floyd let himself cry for just a moment before pushing himself up, trudging back to the bedroom, hiding under the blankets, and crying himself to sleep.

He wasn't sure what time he woke up. The sun was out and the room was silent except for birdsong and quiet breathing beside him. Tensing for a moment- was last night a dream? Did he get blackout drunk and sleep with a stranger?- Floyd bit his lip and turned over to face his bedmate.

"Earl!"

He couldn't apologize for starting Earl awake. Instead, Floyd opted to pepper his fiance's face with kisses, trembling with emotion and letting tears streak his face. "I love you, I love you, I love you, never leave me, please never leave me again!"

"Mmh. Baby, you knew I'd be home..." Earl yawned and tucked Floyd into his chest all the same. "You okay?"

"I... last night... last night was bad."

Earl seemed to wake a little more at that. He ran a hand through Floyd's hair and kissed his forehead before pulling back to look him in the eyes. "... Are you alright?"

"Mhm. I didn't drink." A pause, before Floyd's blood ran cold. "Shit... I left my journal on your desk."

"Mm. Don't worry about it. You know I won't look."

Floyd almost felt the color return to his face as Earl tucked him in close again. "... You don't know how much that means to me," he whispered, nuzzling his face into the crook of Earl's neck and breathing in his scent. Coffee and warm, clean linen and cheap cologne. Heaven. "... You love me, right?"

"More than anything, baby."

"You're not staying because you feel like you have to?"

"Mm-mm. M'here because I love you. I'd be here if you didn't have problems, too. I love you for you." Earl pressed a drowsy kiss to the top of Floyd's head. "I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. I love you."

"... Again."

"I love you."

Floyd smiled a little. "... Can you just... keep doing that?"

He almost heard Earl return the smile. "As long as you want."

Each soft 'I love you' was punctuated with a kiss, anywhere Earl could reach, until Floyd let himself relax and doze off.

Floyd didn't believe in much, but if there was one thing he couldn't question, it was that Earl loved him just as much as he loved Earl.


End file.
